


never argue with a 50-foot-robot or a 900-year-old time lord

by zombeesknees



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 15:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16997853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombeesknees/pseuds/zombeesknees
Summary: When a part of the TARDIS breaks down, the Doctor needs to find sentient metal for the repairs. Luckily, some refugees from Cybertron are more than happy to help him and the Ponds. | Written as a birthday gift for a friend many moons ago.





	never argue with a 50-foot-robot or a 900-year-old time lord

“Is it supposed to be making that noise?” Rory demanded. “I mean, not that I’m an expert on unfathomably powerful alien technology or anything, but that sound? Not a very happy sound.”

“I’ve never heard the TARDIS make a noise like that,” Amy agreed, brow creased.

“You’re right, Rory,” said the Doctor. “That’s a very not happy sound. In fact, it sounds like pressure’s building in the fibrillation system. The rear exhaust tubulants must have cracked—we could be dealing with a catastrophic polarity failure in mere moments.”

“So what do we do?” asked Amy, reaching a hand up to muss her hair compulsively.

“It’s a sticky situation,” the Doctor said, a grin bursting across his face as he twirled around the console, pulling levers, pressing buttons, and flipping doohickeys. “It’s not as if I can land us next to a Jiffy Lube for a quick tune-up. The TARDIS isn’t an ordinary machine.”

“Yeah, we know,” Rory said with the air of a man who has heard the spiel twenty times before. “It’s a living organism with a heart and a mind of its own and a finicky temper. And a bizarre sense of humor.”

“Puns are one of the highest forms of comedy,” the Doctor said defensively, pausing to stroke a panel reassuringly. “As I was saying, the TARDIS is composed of a very particular kind of sentient metal. With Gallifrey gone, there’s only one other planet that has compatible alloys.”

“Great, let’s go there then,” Amy said.

“One problem: Cybertron’s been a dead planet for several decades. Another senseless war.” There was an audible degree of bitterness to his voice. “Another fixed point in time.”

“Soooo… What do we do?”

“We follow the signal,” the Doctor said as if it was obvious, re-calibrating and fine-tuning as he worked his way around the controls.

“The signal,” Rory echoed.

“Yep. Cybertron may be a dead planet, but there were survivors. Refugees. And if my hunch is correct—” A screen lit up as beeping filled the vast room. “They’ve immigrated to a new planet.”

“Nearby, I hope,” said Rory.

“Very close, in fact. And familiar.”

“Earth,” Amy said with a grin. “Notice how it’s always Earth?”

“Well, it’s a rather nice planet,” the Doctor said. Rory was sure there was a degree of paternal pride to his smile. “Very forgiving climate, central location, beautiful scenery. And so many beaches. Love beaches—the sand, the surf, the funny little shells.”

“Okay, so we find these Cybertron people and they’ll help us with the TARDIS?” Rory said. “Think they’ll have any of this sentient metal we need?”

“Most definitely,” the Doctor said firmly, grinning.

They returned the grin, though Rory felt a prickle of foreboding. It seemed like every time the Doctor smiled like that, they were moments away from running for their lives.

\---

“New York!” the Doctor announced with a wide sweep of his long arms. “Formerly New Amsterdam, which isn’t quite as catchy. Doesn’t fit as well on the tee shirts, either.”

“This is fantastic!” Amy said, eyes sparkling as she bounced on the balls of her feet, pulling at Rory’s arm. “I’ve always wanted to see New York!”

“Maybe we could explore a bit, after we get the TARDIS fixed?” Rory suggested, squeezing her hand. “What do you say, Doctor?”

“Sure,” the Doctor agreed, scanning the busy crowd while he fiddled with the settings of his screwdriver.

“Do you mean that, or are you just agreeing?”

“Yep.”

“Doctor,” Amy’s sharp voice cut into his thoughts. “Maybe you should tell us what we’re looking for, so we can get this taken care of quickly.”

“We’re looking for…” The sonic screwdriver hummed loudly. “That.”

Rory and Amy followed his pointing finger. “What?”

“That,” the Doctor said impatiently. “Really, you humans are such funny little things. An alien can be sitting right in front of you—case in point,” he said with a quick gesture at himself. “And you only see what you _expect_ to see.”

“Alright, we get it,” Rory said, rolling his eyes. “You’re a superior and impressive being—”

“No, I’m just observant,” the Doctor interjected.

“But you can’t really fault us. I mean, you look like an average bloke. Well, maybe not average, not in that much tweed, more like a mad person trapped in the forties—”

“You’re not talking about that SUV, are you?” Amy interrupted them.

“Very good, Amy!” the Doctor exclaimed, tapping the end of her nose with a grin.

“ _That’s_ an alien?” Rory said skeptically.

“Rory, you fly through time and space in a police box. Is that so hard to believe?” the Doctor said.

“Fair point,” he conceded before turning to his wife. “But how did you guess?”

“The hood ornament is strange,” Amy explained as they pushed through the crowd towards the parked car. “And we’re looking for aliens with sentient metal, right? It’s the perfect disguise.”

“You noticed that?” her husband demanded with admiration.

“Traveling with the Doctor, you start to pay attention to the little details.”

“Hello there!” the Doctor said to the SUV, nodding warmly. “My name’s the Doctor—this is Amy and Rory Pond.” Rory opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it. “Could we talk?”

There was a short, awkward pause where Amy and Rory found themselves looking at the people passing them, wondering how many thought them weird British tourists. Then the driver’s and backseat doors suddenly swung opened, as if by remote control.

“Thank you!” The Doctor slid inside. “Come along, Ponds!”

The doors snapped shut behind them. Rory admired the pristine dashboard and silver CD player. Amy couldn’t resist a small bounce on the leather seat.

“And who am I addressing?” the Doctor asked.

“My name is Ironhide,” a deep voice suddenly boomed from the general vicinity of the radio. “Who are you, Doctor, that you recognize an Autobot in disguise?”

“I’m a Time Lord.”

“A Gallifreyan!” Ironhide said. “We thought your kind extinct.”

“Almost. I’m the last.”

“Sorry to hear that. What do you want with the Autobots, Doctor?”

“A part of my TARDIS needs repairing, and I was hoping you could help us out.”

“I think we could be of assistance,” said Ironhide. “Ratchet, our mechanic, is the best in the universe. I’ll contact our leader Optimus and have him come and pick you up. I’m on surveillance right now—otherwise I’d take you myself.”

“Surveillance? Who are you keeping tabs on?” Rory asked.

“Nothing in particular. We intercepted information about a potential attack—consider me the advance guard.”

“Oh great, a potential attack,” muttered Rory. “And now that we’re here, you can take ‘potential’ out of that sentence.”

“An attack? By who?” said the Doctor.

A shadow fell across them as a very large semi truck pulled up with a faint hiss of hydraulic breaks. 

“That’s Optimus.” There was the definite sense that Ironhide wanted them to leave so he could focus on his job again. “I’ve explained the situation—he’ll take you directly to Ratchet.”

“Thank you, Ironhide,” the Doctor said as they climbed out. “Good luck with the surveillance.”

“I can see why he’s the leader,” Amy said approvingly, taking in the shining chrome and metallic blue paint. “Very flash.”

It took a moment for them to scramble into the tall cab. A car honked behind the idling semi; a sudden blast of dark exhaust clouded its window, and the driver quickly turned into the other lane, coughing furiously.

“I like this guy already,” said Rory as he pulled Amy up beside him.

“One of the Primes, eh?” the Doctor asked, his tweed jacket squeaking against the black leather upholstery. 

“The last,” a rich baritone voice boomed, sending shivers down Amy’s back. 

“Something we have in common,” said the Doctor quietly. 

“Those are some nice rims you’ve got,” Amy spoke up. “Very manly.”

“Thank you, Ms. Pond.”

“Uh, Mrs.,” Rory corrected quickly.

“Ironhide mentioned you were on alert for an attack,” said the Doctor. “Who from?”

“Decepticons,” said Optimus. “Megatron’s been regrouping.”

“Who’re—” Amy began to ask.

“Remember the war I mentioned,” the Doctor said quickly, glancing over his shoulder. “It was between the Autobots and the Decepticons. Megatron started the whole conflict—tried to take control of Cybertron and enslave everyone who opposed him. Optimus Prime and his Autobots tried to stop him.”

“We could not save Cybertron,” Optimus said heavily. “It remains one of our greatest regrets. But we have found a new home here, and we are determined to protect Earth and its people.”

“Good,” Amy said. “Good on you—we can never have too many protectors.”

“Especially when there are like ten hostile monsters for every decent alien,” Rory added. “It’s funny, how rubbish we are at taking care of ourselves when it comes to invaders from space.”

“Mankind does very well with what it has at its disposal,” Optimus said loyally. “You may not have comparable firepower, but you make up for it in heart and determination.”

“My thoughts exactly,” the Doctor smiled. “Y’know, Optimus, if you ever need help in a tight scrape, feel free to give us a call. I’m quite good with machinery. And Amy here has got a knack for pressing the right buttons. And Rory was plastic once.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I will remember that.” They were pulling into what looked like an abandoned warehouse district. A moment later, Optimus drove through a large set of metal doors that swung open readily and into a large garage in slight disrepair. Several of the high windows had broken out, and the concrete floor was liberally cracked. 

“I’ve got to get back to my patrol,” rumbled Optimus. “Ratchet will call me when you’re done.”

\---

Rory wondered if his eyes were still bugging out in surprise—sometimes he worried about his face freezing in terrible expressions.

Really, he told himself in a rational tone of voice, he should be getting _used_ to seeing incredible, impossible things. He did, after all, live inside a flying box that was bigger on the inside. 

But somehow seeing an ambulance turn into a giant robot with shoulder-mounted cannons seemed a lot _flashier_ and more impressive than a police box with another dimension crammed inside it. 

“So, Doctor, exactly what do you need made?” Ratchet said, crouching down so as not to loom _quite_ as much. 

“The fitzcombobulator’s fractured,” the Doctor said blithely.

“Hmmm…” Ratchet looked puzzled, and Rory marveled even more: just how did a metallic face manage to convey that much emotion? “I spent some time on Gallifrey in my youth, many many years ago—I remember being given tours of the gardens, and learning about the interior workings of your incredible machines. And I can’t recall ever seeing a part called the fitzcombobulator.”

“Er, well,” the Doctor said, suddenly looking sheepish. He straightened his bowtie nervously. “…I may not remember what the actual name of the part is.”

“Doctor,” Amy hissed, punching his arm. “ _This_ is why we don’t throw the manual into a black hole.”

“Wait a minute, are you saying you don’t even know what the parts of your _own_ spaceship are called?” Rory demanded. “And you have the nerve to mock me when I call things Blue Lever Number Three?”

“Alright, alright, so I may not have _technically_ passed my final exam,” the Doctor said defensively. “And I may not have my license. And I may have _borrowed_ the TARDIS without permission—”

“Stolen it,” Amy corrected.

“Yes, I may have, sort of, kind of, _technically_ stolen her. But if she doesn’t complain, I don’t see why you should!”

“Could you perhaps describe the part to me, Doctor?” Ratchet interjected gently, trying to repress a smile. 

“Oh, I could draw it!” he said, pulling out a small notebook from his inner pocket, as well as a handful of peanut shells and some spare bits of twine. He sheepishly swept the debris away with one foot as he sketched furiously. After a couple minutes, he held the pad up for inspection.

“Hmmm,” Ratchet said diplomatically, scratching at his chin.

“Doctor,” Amy said, grabbing his arm to look at his masterpiece. “That looks like a pickle with a horn sticking out of the end.” 

“It does not!” the Doctor cried, offended. “I think it’s a rather apt depiction.”

“Perhaps now would be a good time to mention that I took a picture of the part with my phone?” Rory spoke up, holding up his mobile to Ratchet.

“Aha!” said the Autobot. “That’s the aft replicator!”

“I knew it ended with –tor!” the Doctor said triumphantly. 

“It shouldn’t be hard to make a new one,” Ratchet said. “Give me ten minutes, Doctor. We’ll get you back in the air—so to speak—in two twists of a wrench.”

\---

“It’s funny,” Amy said, holding up the new aft replicator and admiring the shiny, almost liquid-like metal. Optimus drove over a rough stretch of road and they all bounced in their seats. “How your entire TARDIS can be grounded just because a piece this small breaks.”

“Usually she warns me before something breaks,” the Doctor said. “Let’s me know far enough in advance that I can do a patch job before it’s too dire. It’s strange, that she would wait so long to tell me something was wrong.”

“Well, knowing the TARDIS, she had her reasons,” Rory said. “Like when she took us to San Juan Hill just as that Judoon bounty hunter was about to shoot Teddy Roosevelt.”

“Or how about the past _three_ times that we tried to go to Rio and she landed us in Wales, and then Canada, and then Rome? You know, I’m beginning to think she’s got something against Rio,” Amy said mutinously. 

“You may have a point there,” the Doctor mused, just before they were all thrown violently against their seat belts as Optimus slammed on his brakes with a shrill squeal of rubber and metal.

“Ow,” Rory muttered, rubbing at his shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s Ironhide,” Optimus said, his voice tense. “He’s under attack.” The gears shifted abruptly and they leapt forward, squealing around a sharp corner and down a back alley. 

“That Megatron guy?” Amy asked.

“Starscream.”

There was a sudden flash of brilliant light above them as a wicked-looking black and silver jet swooped down, missiles launching in twin streams of gray smoke.

The doors to the cab sprang open and the seats tilted sharply as the seat belts disengaged. Amy found herself dumped unceremoniously onto the sidewalk beside Rory, who managed to sling his arm around her waist and cushion her fall. Across the street, the Doctor had tucked into a roll and landed in a shadowy doorway. 

Before they could catch their breath, Optimus was transforming, the metal sliding and reshaping smoothly with almost musical clicks and whirs. It took less than five seconds before he straightened—no longer a semi, now a 50-foot-tall robot—and swung out a giant arm to deflect one of the missiles. 

“Wow,” Rory gasped as the missile arched upwards, struck the second, and exploded harmlessly overhead in a billow of acrid smoke. 

“This is strange,” Optimus said, tracking the jet’s vapor trail. Starscream seemed unwilling to pass by for another shot, and instead was bee-lining for Times Square and—presumably—Ironhide.

“Strange how?” the Doctor said, standing and straightening his jacket.

“It seems Megatron has a new ally. This transmission I’ve picked up—it’s not Decepticon.”

“Play it.”

“…DO NOT ATTEMPT TO RESIST. ASSIMILATION IS IMMINENT. ANY WHO RESIST WILL BE DELETED.”

“Oh that’s about fifty shades of bad,” Rory groaned.

“Cybermen,” the Doctor said grimly. 

“You are familiar with these beings?”

“Yes, quite familiar. With your firepower and size, they should be easy to handle—as long as their numbers are small. The _big_ concern is whether or not they’ve got a Cyberfleet in orbit—the guns on their ships are powerful enough to make precision strikes on the planet’s surface.”

“My Autobots are under attack as we speak, Doctor,” Optimus said. “Ironhide and Bumblebee have their hands full with Megatron and Starscream. Can you help us with these Cybermen?”

“Of course I can,” the Doctor said without hesitation. “Just get me to the nearest satellite dish.” Optimus lowered a huge hand, and the Doctor stepped into it as calmly as a man stepping into a lift. “Amy, Rory, take care of that aft replicator. It’d be a shame if we had to tell Ratchet we needed _another_ one.”

“Be careful, Doctor!” Amy called after them. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

“Stupid? Me? Amy, you know I never do anything that could be considered _stupid_.”

\---

“Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks!” Rory yelled, ducking down behind a squat mailbox as shards of concrete flew over his head. “Doctor, can you put a rush on that gadget of yours?!”

“Rory, are you okay?” Amy screamed from behind the statue of JFK. 

“Yeah, I’m brilliant,” he shouted back. “There’s an evil jet zooming overhead and that Megatron’s got a gun bigger than _me_ , and now there are Cybermen marching towards us. Where the hell’s my sword when I need it?!”

“The Doctor’ll pull through, he always does,” Amy tried to say as the large granite fountain between them exploded in a shower of rocks and water.

The ground was shaking, rumbling, as the boom of huge metallic footsteps came closer. Seconds later Optimus Prime was diving out of a back alley, giant shoulders scraping against the office buildings on either side. “Ponds! How are you holding up?”

“We’re fine, no problem,” Amy said brightly. “Course, I’d like to have _some way_ to protect myself when that regiment of Cybermen gets here and tries to assimilate us.”

“They won’t get this far,” Optimus said firmly, unsheathing a giant sword that glowed orange with heat.

“See, _that’s_ the kind of sword I need,” Rory muttered.

“The Doctor said he needed five more minutes to ready the EMP cannon. Can he do it?” 

“Absolutely,” Amy said firmly.

“If he said he needed five minutes, then he’ll have it done in five minutes,” Rory agreed. “The Doctor can be scattershot at times, and sometimes he doesn’t take you exactly where he intended to, but when it comes to life or death, split-second, dire consequences, he’s at his best.”

“Glad to hear it. Stay down; I’ll be back in three minutes.”

“We’re timing you,” Amy shouted cheekily after the Prime as he barreled down the wide street toward the squadron of marching Cybermen.

“You know, the Doctor’s got style,” Rory commented as they watched the ensuing clash. “But that Optimus Prime, he’s got _style_.”

“You just like him because he turns into a giant truck,” Amy said. “You’re such a boy sometimes.”

\---

“Well, that was fun,” the Doctor said brightly, cinching the last bolt and reconnecting the wires to the new aft replicator. “New York’s a lovely city, isn’t it?”

“The bits of it that weren’t blown up, yeah,” Amy said, picking sadly at her tights, which had been brand new that morning and now had huge ladders in them. 

“Bumblebee was a great tour guide,” Rory said. 

“A bit of a hassle, having to answer those military blokes’ questions, though,” Amy complained, slipping off her boots and tossing them by the coat rack. 

“Yes, well, Optimus insisted that we stay for it,” the Doctor said. “And after everything the Autobots did for us, it wouldn’t have been polite to just run off.”

“We’re always running off,” Rory pointed out. “You never think twice about it. Debriefings and secrecy agreements are other peoples’ problems, not ours.”

“As true as that may usually be,” the Doctor agreed calmly, “There are always times when exceptions need to be made.”

“Is it because they remind you of Gallifrey?” Amy asked quietly, leaning against the railing beside Rory, lacing her fingers over his. 

“…Yes. And anyway, when a 50-foot-tall robot with a huge sword asks you to do something, you can’t very well argue,” the Doctor said with a twinkle in his eye and a sloppy smile across his face. “Now, where to next? We’ve had a taste of 21st century America—how does the Old West sound? We could see how Rory would look in chaps and a cowboy hat.”

“Oh yes, please!” Amy squeaked in excitement.

“Ohhhh, thanks,” Rory said with a groan. “As if you didn’t have enough fun making me dress up when we were kids…”


End file.
